


Your Fingers Leave Traces Wherever They Go

by dirthara



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A day trip into Val Royeaux, Bisexual Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Bisexual Solas (Dragon Age), M/M, Mage Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Relentless teasing from companions, Sexual Tension, Some kissing but mostly flirting, Trans Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Trans Male Character, mlm author, trans man author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22639759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirthara/pseuds/dirthara
Summary: A humid day trip into Val Royeaux. Pleasant moments interrupted by friends with good intentions. (Happy Valentines day!)
Relationships: Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), Male Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Male Lavellan/Solas
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	Your Fingers Leave Traces Wherever They Go

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically related to my first fic, [Sleep and Find Me by the Fire Glow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22378705), only in that it is yet another part of Solas and Fen'an's ongoing relationship. Both are part of a larger series of small moments of their romance. You can find the full series of short pieces [here](https://firewatergarden.tumblr.com/tagged/fen%27an-x-solas).

It all started, as so many things often did, with Dorian and Varric complaining. After weeks of the thankless work of fighting demons through all manner of hostile terrain, the two of them were clearly fed up.

“All I’m saying is a little tour of a real city wouldn’t hurt anybody, my friend. We get a little shopping done, have a few drinks, head back in the morning, and pick up where we left off in this grim rift closing business. I’m sure Leliana can send us on some sort of official errands to make the whole thing worthwhile,” Varric explained where the two of them had cornered Fen’an on the stairs of the Herald’s Rest.

“Precisely,” Dorian cut in. “We work, we pick up anything we’re missing, but more importantly, we all unwind somewhere that isn’t muddy and finally experience some drink variety.” He leaned past the railing towards the bar. “No offense, Cabot.”

The surly bartender threw a rude gesture at him in lieu of a reply. Dorian returned it with a sickeningly sweet smile. Fen’an leaned against the stairs, eyeing the two of them skeptically and crossing his arms over his chest.

“So, you’re telling me we should put the brakes on saving people, killing demons, and ensuring rifts don’t rip our world to shreds, so we can run around the city for a day?”

“Well,” Varric scoffed, scratching his head. “When you put it like that.”

Solas, who had only been a few steps behind Fen’an, casually settled his free hand on Fen’an’s back. The temperature in the room seemed to rise a few subtle degrees.

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea. Val Royeaux holds many unique delights. I think we all could benefit from a little indulgence.”

“Really?” Dorian’s eyes glittered. “I must say, I didn’t expect that from you, Solas. You’re so,” he eyed him skeptically. “Rustic. Yet full of surprises, as always.”

Solas’ hand traveled, dipping towards the small of Fen’an’s back. The touch began to supercede everything else in the room, interfering with Fen’an’s ability to think clearly. The wan smile Solas shot Dorian was even worse.

“I shall take that as a compliment, Dorian. I have great respect for beautiful cities. Orlais intrigues me. Rich in history and dripping in such desperate desire to keep up perfect appearances. Who wouldn’t want to see what the capital has in store.”

Fen’an cleared his throat, fighting to keep his expression schooled. Dorian smiled, his gaze flicking between the two of them, a knowing look in his eyes. Before either of them could say a word, Varric clapped.

“Then it’s settled!”

“Varric,” Fen’an murmured, trying to ignore the heat flooding his face. “I didn’t even agree yet.”

Varric’s smile was bright and glib. “Chuckles said he wants to see the city and you look at him like he hung the stars. I believe I can safely say we are taking a detour into the heart of the golden lion.”

“Ah, don’t make fun, Varric. One must take pity on a man who had the deck stacked against him.” Dorian winked at Fen’an, then led Varric off. Their voices echoed through the Herald’s Rest behind them as they discussed travel plans.

“I appreciate your backup, very useful,” Fen’an said, elbowing Solas.

Solas leaned closer, an aura of self satisfaction rolling off him. He smiled one of those pointed, private smiles at him and golden sunlight dripped down the side of his face.

“Happy to be of service, as always, Inquisitor.”

He slipped past Fen’an, his hand trailing over his side and leaving a wave of heat in its wake. With his hands clasped behind his back, he made his way out of the Herald’s Rest, that infuriatingly beautiful smile still tucked into the corner of his mouth.

#

Val Royeaux glistened, shimmering with trapped heat and mist rolling off the reservoir. Beneath the swooping vermillion banners and the sparkling golden lions, the streets were packed. Indistinct conversation hummed over the sounds of bobbing boats, bird calls, and the clink of utensils in so many open air cafés. The hazily quality of the afternoon was a physical thing dripping over everything and soaking through Fen’an’s shirt.

The city was a facade upon a facade, polished to perfection and flooded with a sea of ornate masks. The rot beneath its impeccable veneer threatened to seep out of every back alley. It felt as though this finely crafted place might shatter under the force of even the slightest wind, falling away to reveal the darkness that crept underneath.

It was, however, beautiful, despite the badly covered stench of garbage tucked where they thought no one could see it. Fen’an took what he could from it as they roamed alone together in a lazy circuit.

Each of their companions had disappeared hours ago, pulled into intriguing shops, lost in the whirlwind of colors, or distracted by some urgent business they refused to explain. They were lost, one by one, until it was only the two of them. Fen’an didn’t mind. In fact, he preferred it this way. Judging by the pleasant smile pulling at Solas’ lips, he knew he wasn’t alone.

They drifted past restaurants bustling with people, the scent of rich food billowing with each lazy gust of wind. They slowed in an open courtyard as a gang of children hurdled past them, their masks askew and their shrill laughter dragging outraged shrieks from their irritated parents. Solas smiled and his hand lingered on Fen’an’s elbow.

They slowed as they passed giant statues rising over the thoroughfares in brilliant poses. All of them were well known figures to Orlesians, but unknown to Fen’an. Solas filled the gaps, leaning over his shoulder, the rich sound of his voice heady over the bustle of the city as he shared stories he’d seen in the fade, lost histories that no one knew about. Some of them were particularly scandalous.

“Is that true?” Fen’an murmured, glancing back, their faces close enough he could feel Solas’ breath.

Solas watched him, the dark grey of his eyes catching sunlight shattered off the lions. The tiniest smile pulled at the curve of his lips. “Does it matter?”

Fen’an’s quiet laughter was lost in the chatter around them. They slipped into the churn of bodies, letting the tightness of the streets press them perilously close together.

As the day wore on, the hazy heat gathering in the city grew worse. With it, the tension rising between them did too. Their touches lingered, bodies pressed close in the packed crowd, each stare lingered a little too long. When they stopped to eat, their knees brushed and Solas watched him over the rim of his glass, as though he was more interesting than the city could ever be.

It grew heavy, overwhelming, a bloom under the unforgiving clothing Dorian had insisted Fen’an wear. Soon he wanted nothing more than to forget the rules of the city, shed his shirt and shoes, and escape somewhere cool where they could be alone without the overbearing gaze of the city upon them.

The gardens welcomed them, quiet and humid, but with more shade than the open market streets allowed. Blooms scented the air, spilling down the walls, thick and vibrant with so many colors. Trees rose overhead, the thick fan of their leaves gathering dew sprinkled by some kind of intricate magic.

Deeper in, a darker kind of shade beckoned, an alcove set aside, crawling with vines, and hidden from the glare of the sun. Fen’an slipped into the blissful darkness and sighed at the relief of the cool air lapping against his skin. Solas followed, his footsteps near silent, letting out his own, easy breath as shadows wrapped around them.

Suddenly, Solas laughed, the soft barking sound breaking through the quiet and drawing Fen’an’s attention.

“What is it?” He asked, once again drawn into Solas’ orbit.

“It appears we have wandered into the lover’s alcove. If the plaque is to be believed, this place is only ever used for the social theater of love.”

Fen’an stepped closer, hovering behind Solas’ shoulder to read the words carved in to the perfect sheet of gold. A wry smile pulling at his lips. Solas’ weight shifted, a slight shiver rolling through him, neither of which escaped Fen’an’s notice.

“With all of these masks and carefully curated appearances, they’d be lucky if any single spot in this city wasn’t used as a release for repressed sexual energy.”

Solas leaned closer, his voice low in the thickened shadows. “The spirits clamor here, peeking through, fingers pressed to the veil. No lie can cover up the dalliances, the danger and pleasure. It permeates the very walls.”

The flush of heat returned, burning up Fen’an’s neck. He pressed closer, letting his hand just barely trail over Solas’ side.

“You’re infuriating. Do you know that?”

Solas’ smile caught the tiniest bit of reflected light. “How so?”

"You’re teasing me, on purpose. What’s the point of this game, vhenan?”

Solas turned, his grey eyes darker, molten even in the shadows. “Teasing is not the right word.”

The space between them melted, until their lips were a breath away and Solas’ hands hovered by his hips.

“Teasing implies that I will not make good on every silent promise.”

Fen’an pressed into his touch and caught Solas’ mouth. A loss and a victory in one. Despite the burning, tight air between them, the kiss was slow, soft, and gentle.

“I want you,” Fen’an whispered, the words lost in the plush heat of Solas’ mouth.

“You two are about a second from incurring the wrath of the city guard,” Varric’s voice sliced the moment down its very center.

“Shh,” Dorian chided. “It was just getting to the good bit.”

Solas pulled away first, though not far enough to truly break the tension. Fen’an watched him, unabashed, not bothering to look at their friends, or anything else for a solid minute. When he finally did, he found Dorian and Varric leaning against a pillar, looking thoroughly pleased with themselves. Behind them, a group of guards hovered, less than casually making their way through the garden.

Fen’an leaned closer to Solas and took his hand. “Let’s continue this elsewhere.”

Solas’ voice was thick with amusement. “I think that would be best.”

“Now now,” Dorian called after them. “Don’t stop on our account.”

Neither of them listened. They melted into the crowd beyond the garden, easily evading the guards. A moment later, the group of guards stiffly dispersed.

“Ah, romance,” Dorian sighed, fanning himself. “Now I’m all hot and bothered.”

“You know what they say the best cure for that is, Sparkler?”

“What would that be?”

“A few strong drinks.” Varric said, patting him on the back.

“Ah, Varric. You’re the only man who truly understands me.”

As they made their way out of the garden, past a few busy restaurants and towards a bar that Varric claimed to be the best outside Kirkwall - to which Dorian was only gently skeptical - they just missed another, darker and more secluded alleyway, where Solas and Fen’an had found themselves some solitude.

Tucked behind a cascade of flowers, they lost themselves in each other’s mouths, Solas’ fingers tangled in Fen’an’s hair, and Fen’an’s hand slipping beneath the fabric of Solas’ shirt.


End file.
